


Walls Come Tumbling Down

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [28]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Closeted Character, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slurs, we're really going through it in this one okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: Trouble brewing from within the Conglomerate. Just when things were looking so bright.
Relationships: Michael Carter/Ted Kord
Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1282328
Comments: 13
Kudos: 44





	Walls Come Tumbling Down

**7:48 AM**

“I’m gonna murder him!”

The two men in the dark suits spin around in their seats, wide-eyed, in response to Booster’s sudden entrance into the meeting room, the early morning sun through the window gleaming off his costume. Claire, however, regards him coolly from her place at the head of the table, a stack of paper in her manicured hands.

“Booster,” she tells him quietly. “I’m in a meeting.”

“I can see that,” he breathes, pulse still thrumming in his ears. “I'm sorry. But this -- It's an emergency.”

She sits back, her cool demeanor slipping away into concern. “What’s happened?”

Booster makes a choked noise, glancing to the two businessmen, shareholders, whatever they are. “Well, I... I need to talk to you alone.”

“Booster --”

“Please.” He pulls his fingers through his hair, trying to disguise they way his hands are trembling. “Claire, _please.”_

Two minutes later, in Claire’s office, after the doors behind them have been closed with the softest of creaks, Claire turns to Booster with a heavy sigh. “This better be important, Booster. _Extremely_ important, do you get me?”

He wastes no time on the lead-up and unrolls the magazine in his hands. “Did you know about this?”

Her eyes alight on the page, the big glossy photo of Praxis, white teeth gleaming, and the headline, _‘Inside the heads of the Conglomerate’_.

“You pulled me out of my meeting for a Praxis fluff piece?” The look on Claire’s face as she glances up at him is no longer annoyed -- furious is more apt.

“So you _don’t_ know.” It’s simultaneously better and worse than he feared. At least it wasn’t done for cheap publicity by order of Claire’s team, but that means she has no oversight over how this plays out. He hands her the magazine. “Read the end.”

She gives him another incredulous look, walking around her desk to sit down, pulling a pair of green-rimmed glasses out of the top drawer and holding them up to her face as her lips silently form the words on the glossy paper.

Booster has reread that interview enough times this morning to know what it says by heart.

_“Although Praxis’ place in the superhero world is a given these days as arguably one of the most powerful telepaths in the US (if not the world), not every part of the business has been easy to get used to for the towering hero;_

_‘It’s not like working in the force, that’s for sure,’ Praxis admits to It’s That magazine. ‘With police, you know what you’re getting. You know they’ve been heavily vetted, they’re up to snuff.’_

Not so with superheroes? _‘H*ll no,’ Praxis tells us. ‘A lot of dirty secrets in the hero biz, and I’m not talking about civilian identities.’ When asked what secrets he might be referring to, the policeman laughs. ‘You name it. Criminal background, secret kid -- a lot of skeletons in those closets. Some men, too, if you catch my drift.’ The telepath lets his hand go limp, hanging from the wrist. ‘They should pay me double for having to hear the things that go on in those heads all day.’_

 _I_ _ask him if those secrets he just referred to are specifically related to his fellow members of the Conglomerate. ‘Buddy, we’d be here all day if I had to go into what goes on in the superhero community at large!’_

Claire lets the magazine drop to the desk with a soft whap.

“You -- You can let him do this,” Booster tells her in a strained voice.

Claire frowns. “Well, it’s not good.”

“Not good? It’s a -- It’s a fucking disaster!” Booster pulls his fingers through his hair, flopping down on the seat in front of Claire’s desk. “He’s gonna --” He swallows, trying to find the words. _“Ruin_ me with, with a stupid magazine interview!”

“You’re not the main character in this, Booster,” Claire tells him, following him with her eyes. “This could hurt others more than you, you know.”

“Are you sure about that?” Booster snaps back through gritted teeth. “Because I’m not so sure America is ready for a bankable superhero team leader who likes guys.”

There's Reverb too, of course. God knows Praxis hates him too, wouldn't break a sweat killing two birds, two superheroes, with one stone.

“You don’t think they’ll balk harder at a superhero with a criminal record?”

Booster pulls his lips back in a sneering smile. “Lucky me, I’m two for two.” He looks up, surprised at the change in Claire's expression.

“Booster!” For the first time there's something almost like panic in her eyes. “How could you _not_ tell me you have--”

“I -- Claire -- Not here, not in this era.” He makes a dismissive gesture. “I did some... not strictly legal things in my own time, okay?” He pinches his costume near his clavicle, pulling it as an indication of what he's referring to. “I already went through the wringer for it, too. Nothing anyone could pin on me now.”

“Except a policeman who can read minds." Claire looks at him, annoyed. "I asked you, you know. When we became partners in this, I asked you if you had _any_ secrets that could make this project, this team, look anything but perfect, and you said--”

 _“This_ is the part you want to focus on?” Booster exclaims, hugging himself. “I was very upfront about the bisexual thing, Claire. Me stealing some things in the 25th Century doesn’t relate to anything.”

Claire sighs deeply, steepling her fingers and propping up her chin with her thumbs. She closes her eyes, groaning softly, the sound muffled by her hands.

Bouncing his leg, Booster stares at her. Waiting until he can't wait any longer. "Well?" he asks. "What are we gonna do?"

“Look, I do not have nearly enough information to make a judgement call on this right now," Claire tell hims, sitting back in her chair. "I need to finish my meeting, I need to talk to PR, I need to figure out how the world is responding to this interview.”

“What more do you need to know?” Booster hisses, only because he doesn't want to shout. “Praxis spilled confidential team information in a fucking fluff interview, _he’s_ the problem here! Fix _him,_ make him -- make him retract everything. Make him say he lied.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Make him take it all back and get him the fuck off my team!” Booster jumps out of his chair, feeling out of breath despite standing still. Every muscle feels tense and exhausted, like he’s done a marathon training session. "I've told you enough times, he doesn't work on this team, Claire! He's been a problem since day one."

Claire gives him a look. “I’m telling you it’s not that simple, Booster. You've got to think about the team's credibility, too. How would it look if we made Praxis say he lied to the press?”

Booster makes a noise. “How the fuck does it look it now?”

“And how would it look if he got kicked off the team immediately after doing an interview like this? You think the Conglomerate would have any kind of goodwill out there after we punished a team member for speaking out?”

“I don’t care about _goodwill,”_ Booster exclaims, exhausted. “I care about -- about my private life. Feeling safe in this job. I care about my livelihood here, Claire.”

She looks at him and sighs. “Of course, Booster. Like I said, I need to get my bearings here, and then we’ll see what we might do to --”

Booster sniffs, falling down in his chair. “Oh, I see. Yeah. I knew it,” he sneers. “Praxis is your big money ticket. The sponsors, the shareholders, everyone fucking loves the big cop man with the mental powers, right? Love him so much he doesn’t have to play by anyone’s rules.”

“You’re not going to get anywhere acting childish, Booster,” Claire tells him pointedly. “And I have a meeting to finish. You stay out of sight until I call you, and I don’t want you to talk to anyone until you hear from me, you understand me?”

He makes a noise, a choked whine through his nose in frustration, before he pulls his fingers through his hair. “Just humor me," he murmurs, his voice thin. "If we... have to act on this, what he said... What are our options?”

Claire frowns, getting to her feet. “You mean about the -- the gay stuff?” 

“Yeah.”

“We do have options, Booster,” she mutters, a little softer now. “It all depends on what the public is ready to hear.”

He frowns, not meeting her gaze. “You mean how bad the fallout might be.” The end of the team. Or the end of him as a member, anyway. Maybe the end of his career, if things get bad enough.

“Something like that.”

“So -- what?”

She places a finger in her palm. “We can deny it. In your case we can... Push your relationship with Vapor. Fans have been very responsive about you two.”

Booster snorts, making a face. “Am I gonna have to marry her too, to throw them off the scent?”

"Don't be ridiculous." She glances up at him, placing another finger in her palm. “ _Or..._ we might be very open about it, make a real statement about personal honesty and how you’re done hiding who you are. Court the controversy, be proactive about it.”

Booster makes a noise, almost like a sob. Then he covers his face in his hands. “There’s no option like, I don’t know, telling everyone to mind their goddamned business?”

He's seen it before, in this age. If not in the superhero biz, in sports. In Hollywood. In politics. Opportunities and allies quietly disappearing. Careers derailed, never to recover. Intimately personal issues spread all over the front pages. Not to mention the more conservative corners of the public and media, loudly, sometimes even violently, condemning them.

 _That's_ an option?

Claire looks at him, not without sympathy.

"I see," he murmurs, gazing out the window. “But you know it's not gonna -- You know there aren’t any queer superheroes.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” she counters softly. Conversationally, like it's just another subject to chat about.

He gives her a look. “You know what I mean. Not... _out_ ones.”

“There’s the one in Australia. Or is it New Zealand? That animal man.”

Booster sputters. “Animal Man? I'm pretty sure Animal Man's not --!”

“Not Animal Man,” she groans, waving her hand dismissively . “The -- the guy who can turn into a wolf or something. In Australia. He’s, what you called it -- _out,”_

“Oh pardon me, then,” Booster hisses. “There’s _one_ gay superhero. On the other side of the world. That must mean nobody will bat an eye if _I_ lay bare who I am.” 

Claire clicks her tongue, pausing for a moment. “It could be an important moment, you know. A turning point. History.”

Booster’s mouth twitches. “I -- I don’t want to make history right now,” he murmurs, folding and refolding his hands. “I just want to -- to be in love, and happy, and free to make my own choices about this.”

He hates the fact that it had to be Praxis. That someone would make this choice for him, and it had to be Jason fucking Praxis.

“Like I said, I need way more information before we make a decision about this, Booster," Claire tells him, picking up the magazine. "And may I remind you your love life is only one of several issues we need to resolve.”

 _Resolve._ Find a solution to the unforgivable problem of being in love with someone.

“Just keep your beeper handy, or better yet, stay here, in the living quarters. Don’t talk to anyone, and Booster --” She frowns at him, lacquered nails pointing at him. “If you see Praxis you walk away. I do not want a scene on top of everything else happening today.”

He makes a face, balling his hands into fists. As she exits the room, her heels going _click click click_ on the floor, he exhales. “Wait, Claire. Please.”

She turns halfway towards him, her posture telling him he’s only got a few more seconds of her attention.

“Whatever happens,” he mutters, looking up at her. “There... Has to be consequences for him. For doing this.” He clears his throat. “Please tell me there will be consequences for him.”

She looks away. “I need more information.”

The door closes and Booster is alone in Claire’s spacious office.

He pulls off his goggles, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes so hard he sees stars.

_Christ._

When everything was so perfect. When he was happier than he's been in years, happier than he ever thought he deserved to be.

He gets up, pacing the floor, before he sits down in Claire’s chair, restlessly bouncing his leg. _Don't talk to anyone,_ she told him. He came here directly after reading the interview over breakfast, Ted already having left for the day to head to the Embassy. A sweet kiss goodbye at the door, none of them knowing what was in the magazine plopped down on Booster's doormat along with his other mail. No idea what missile was about to hit their happy little secret corner of the world.

God. Does Ted know yet? He must know by now.

Booster flying over to the Conglomerate HQ feeling like he was gonna throw up, so distracted he realized too late what a mistake it was trying to get into the building by the front door. The increasing crowd of journalists already there, rabid, shouting for his attention...

He hasn’t talked to anyone, not the journos, not the team, not anyone. 

He glances at Claire’s off-white phone on the desk.

She meant reporters. Don’t talk to reporters, or anyone who could conceivably go to the reporters.

He must be allowed to talk to _someone._ Someone he trusts, right?

He whips the bulky receiver off, dialing a familiar number, and waits as it rings once. Twice. 

_Please. Please be Ted._

It rings three times. Four.

A click. _“Yeah, whaddya want?”_

“Guy?” Something sinks in Booster’s stomach.

_“Yeah? Who’re you?”_

“It’s, um, Booster.”

Booster squirms hearing Guy’s hearty chuckle. _“Well, well, well,”_ Guy continues at length. _“The prodigal son. Which one are you, then?”_

“The tall blonde one,” Booster mutters, glancing out the window. “Got a star on my chest? I know I haven’t been around in a while, but Jesus, didn’t think you’d forget me so soon.”

 _“Harr harr,”_ Guy replies. _“Don’t play dumb. You know what I mean -- it’s like a game show, everyone’s trying to guess what label belongs to who.”_

Booster massages the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes.

 _“Even the morning shows are playing it,”_ Guy continues, and by the sound of his voice he’s grinning wide. _“So which one are you? You got a record, or is there a little blonde-haired tyke running around with your nose?”_ Guy guffaws. _“Me, I’m betting you’re the sissy one.”_

Booster sighs. “You are, huh?” 

_“Yeah, you were always too -- pretty. There's something wrong with guys who're pretty like you.”_

Booster lets out a weak chuckle. “Well, you’re the one who thinks I’m pretty, so that ought to say more about you than me.”

 _“Fuck off."_

“Look, can I please just talk to --” Booster inhales, suddenly hesitating. “...Anyone else?”

 _“Depends,”_ Guy tells him languidly. _“What did you call for?”_

“Can’t a former Leaguer just call?” Booster feels clammy. Too warm. “I was a member for years, you know, I’d like to keep in touch. Can I talk to -- I don’t know -- Fire?” He swallows thickly. “Or Ice? Or, um, Beetle?”

 _“Oh that’s right, you’ve made up with Mr. Bug Man in a big way, haven’t you?”_ Guy continues, not waiting for an answer; _“We barely see him anymore, always running off to your place the moment he’s off duty.”_

“Forget it, Guy. Nice talk,” Booster mutters, swiftly setting the receiver down, cutting the connection.

He inhales deeply through his nose, then breathes out unevenly between parted lips. He feels like crying.

Everyone. Everyone’s talking about it.

Everyone gets to talk about it while he’s got no one to talk to at all.

He hunches forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees and grabs himself by the hair. There’s a dim throbbing pain inside him, like a cold hole in his chest.

Poor Ted. This must be his worst nightmare come true, even hearing people discuss it. All his worst fears staring him in the face. 

Booster chews his lip, a sting of guilt in him at all the times he told Ted he was worrying too much. Maybe he was always too relaxed about this. Maybe he should have fretted over this like Ted fretted. Would that have made a difference? He’s _been_ careful. He’s been so ridiculously careful, and the only mistake he apparently made was... Thinking about it. 

Thinking about it when he knew the biggest asshole on his team can read minds.

He groans at length against his palms, the anxiety tensing his core, his body. Can’t sit still. Can’t just sit here and wait for his world to end. He gets to his feet, wiping his face, and heads out into the corridor without a plan, just needing to move. They’ve got their own gym in this building, don’t they? That’s what he’ll do. Work out so hard he can’t think, that he can’t imagine how bad this all can turn out.

Down two floors, left corridor, past the kitchen, past the --

_“Fuck you! Don’t fucking touch me!”_

_“Alright, alright, just calm down!”_

_“Just tell me where that -- that fucker is.”_

Unable to walk past though there’s something tight and anxious inside him, Booster peers into the rec room.

“Boss!” To his credit, Maxi-Man smiles when he sees him, something like relief in his eyes. He’s seated hunched over on the couch, while in front him stands Reverb, shoulders tense and high, his center of gravity low like he’s ready to fight, and close by is Echo, holding up warding hands.

“Um,” Booster begins, trying to sound calmer than he is. “What’s up?”

“You don’t know?” Reverb asks, incredulous, turning to him with dark eyes. “You don’t know what that _huelebicho_ cop has been up to?”

Booster clears his throat, smoothing his hair with nervous fingers. “The -- the article? Yeah. I’ve just talked to Claire about it.”

“And what did our mighty employer have to say about it?” Reverb asks, not relaxing out of his fighting stance.

“She, um --” There’s an unfamiliar tremor to Booster’s voice. “She’s gonna look into it.”

“See?” Reverb hisses, turning back to Echo. “They’re not gonna do anything. They’re never gonna do anything when it’s their big strong cop who’s stirring the shit.”

Echo looks away, frowning.

“Nothing’s ever gonna happen if we’re not the ones doing it,” Reverb continues, his voice low. “So if any of you know where that son of a bitch is holed up, I say we go find him and show him he can’t _do_ shit like that.”

“I’m just saying it’s not a solution to anything,” Echo hisses. “It’s not gonna _solve_ any of this! Booster, tell him!”

Booster makes a weird, choked kind of chuckle, meeting Echo’s expectant gaze. Like he’s ever been able to tell Reverb what to do. Like Reverb’s plan isn’t exactly the same thing he's been fantasizing about all morning. He stutters, no idea what to say.

“I mean --” Maxi-Man cuts in, softly. “The issue here is that he _lied,_ isn’t it? You can't lie to the press, they're gonna figure it out sooner or later. If Praxis has any sense he'll come clean and apologize publicly.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, several people in the room avoiding Maxi Man’s questioning gaze.

“I mean, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Uh,” Echo begins softly. “Henry --”

“Some of it’s true,” Reverb cuts in, quietly. 

Booster looks at him, surprised. He didn't think Reverb would be the first one to out himself to the team.

Reverb rubs his neck. “Like yeah, I -- I have a criminal record, you know.”

“You do?” Maxi Man asks, regarding Reverb with a shocked expression.

“Yeah, but I -- I already made up for it.” Reverb shrugs, and only Booster recognizes the way he avoids Maxi’s gaze. “It’s not like I’m a fugitive.”

Booster clears his throat. “Yeah. Same here.”

 _“No._ " Maxi-Man turns to him wide, eyed. "Not you too! You’re our _boss.”_

Booster flashes him his easiest smile. “Hey, it wasn’t even this century. It hasn’t even happened yet, technically.”

Behind him Booster hears a strangled chuckle coming from Reverb.

“Huh. Wow,” Maxi-Man sighs, as Echo flops down on the couch next to him. “But the -- the other stuff Praxis talked about, then?"

Booster swallows, regarding his hands.

"Like about a secret kid.” Maxi-Man looks up at Booster, a frown tensing his forehead. “Like sure, I have a kid. I haven’t announced it in costume or anything because he’s part of, of my private life, you know?” He shrugs, frowning. “But I guess that makes him a secret to the public. But I never kept Bobby a secret from you guys. You know that. Me and Darlene were married when we had ‘im, too. He’s not a secret, I'm not ashamed of him, I just don’t want the journos stalking him.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Booster smiles, patting Maxi-Man's broad shoulder, a little taken aback. “No one’s gonna bother with Bobby.” Not when there are juicier rumors to ponder.

“So that leaves...” Maxi-Man frowns in thought. “That queer thing.” He chuckles, looking from Reverb to Booster. “That one’s _definitely_ baloney. I mean, the only guys in this outfit are me, you two, and Praxis.”

Reverb and Booster exchange looks.

“Like, look at us!” Maxi-Man laughs. “None of us are exactly _girly.”_

“Um,” Booster mutters, his heart pounding against his chest wall.

“I mean, yeah, you take care of yourself, boss. You like to look good.” Maxi-Man gestures at him and shrugs easily. “But man, are the girls always throwing themselves at you. You even had that thing with Vapor, everyone knows that.”

“Sure,” Booster murmurs looking at the floor, his voice hoarse.

_Jesus._

Should he tell him? He imagines Claire’s option, a big statement where he outs himself, and his own team learning he’s been lying to them all along. _That’s_ gonna do wonders for team morale, right? If the shareholders want him on the team after something like that.

But he looks at Maxi, one of the few people on this team that has always stood by him, respected him. Is he ready to make an enemy out of him right at this moment, confess to him things he can’t even imagine to be true?

His head hurts. His body hurts, his soul hurts.

“I....” Booster's lips are dry. “I figure we -- we give Claire time to, um, get a hold of the situation. We wait until she has a plan and then... We can discuss what to do.”

Reverb makes a noise of disgust, and when Booster meets his gaze, Reverb’s eyes are dark with anger and frustration. They interrogate him silently, asking him if he realizes how bad this can get.

Booster looks away. “I’m, um, heading out. Getting some air.” He glances at the group. “Don’t talk to anyone, okay?”

* * *

**11:34 AM**

There’s no plan. Nowhere he can imagine to go. He just needs air. Solitude and quiet.

Booster’s flown even higher than he usually does when he needs to get away from things. Not only above the cloud cover, but even higher, where the air is thin, just to make sure a photographer can’t find him even with the latest super zoom lens. He left the Conglomerate building by the roof, flying as fast as he could, straight up, before the increasing crowd of journalists at the entrance could spot him. Hopefully.

He pulls up his knees, hugging them to his chest, and floats in the thin, cold air.

He just wants to be alone.

Or... No.

He wants to be with Ted. Wants to curl up in Ted’s arms, warm and soft and sleepy. Be told everything will be alright. That he’s worrying about nothing, while Ted pets his hair. That's all he wants.

He reminds himself one photo of him seeking out Ted, together with Ted, even talking, could be the thing that sets this whole avalanche off. The conjectures and accusations spreading like something contagious, from Booster to Ted -- It must not happen. He can't let it happen.

He must keep everything contained. Then maybe everything will turn out alright.

Booster hugs himself tighter.

The fact that Ted’s the one person he can’t see or hug or talk to right now shows just how not-alright everything is.

He sniffs. What if he _did_ come out clean to the world? After all, he knows it’s only a matter of time before people will be okay with these things. Knows that the journey of acceptance between this time and his own is a done deal. 

Knows so thoroughly that it isn’t really him or Ted that’s wrong, it’s... Everybody else. If only he knew _when_ that change is gonna happen. It could be five hundred years from now or it could be... Tomorrow.

Resting his forehead against his knees, he closes his eyes and imagines a grand statement to the press. A sea of microphones thrust in his face, countless cameras aimed at him. That's the kind of setup he used to love, right? Now he's not so sure.

_Considering recent events, I’ve come to the conclusion that time has come to be honest about what I am. Who I am. Time to lay numerous and sometimes cruel rumors to rest. (Pause for effect.)_

_My name is Booster Gold and I am bisexual._

He chuckles coldly. Nah, there’s no way the newspapers will reproduce the nuance of a term like that. “Fag superhero” is more their level of tact.

_My name is Booster Gold and I am, in the parlance of this time, a flaming queer. A colossal homo._

He giggles thinly, his voice unfamiliar in this thin air.

No.

_My name is --_

_My name is Booster Gold and... I am in love. Wonderfully, ecstatically in love, and the person I’m in love with happens to be another man. So please explain to me how that is supposed to change anything about... Who I am. Or how I feel._

He nuzzles his face between his knees.

What if he was the one who changes things, you know? 

What if this is another time paradox? 

He came here from a future where he could be what he is, kiss and love who he wanted without issue, and maybe he’s here to tell people that this change is gonna come. There’s no -- no avoiding it. The world will change and people will change and he knows it, he can guarantee it, because he’s lived it. 

Or even if he can't force that change to come, what if -- What if someone saw him make a statement like that, fight a battle like that, and -- not just another hero, or public figure but.... Imagine a teenager saw him, heard him. A kid. Someone out there right now, thinking they’re the only person in the world like this, who thinks this cruel, stupid world is gonna stay cruel and stupid forever.

If he can’t change the world right now, would it be worth it if the right people saw him try?

What if he was the one who made it alright?

He makes a face.

Sure, and what kind of influence will he have when he’s out a job? When people will rather stay in the burning building because they don’t want to be carried to safety or touched at all by a gay superhero?

Like LexCorp and Ferris and all the other bigwigs will want him in the Conglomerate after making a public confession like that. He'll be out on his ass, the media gloating all the way that he got what he deserved. No team will have him, and even solo... Who will cry out for the fag superhero to help them? He won’t even be called on to pull cats out of trees. And where will the money come from? No manager, no product endorsements, no modeling. 

Fuck.

What on earth will he do when he can’t be a hero?

He has no talents, no trade. The only thing he was ever good at was football, and he’s almost a decade too old to hope to return to the field. Not that he wants to. But he doesn’t know anything, he can’t _do_ anything. He’s useless, that’s all he’s ever been. Useless and _stupid_ and --

He presses his palm against his face and exhales. It comes out like a sob.

He’s scared. That’s all.

He’s terrified.

* * *

**1:03 PM**

The steel door is locked, like he thought it would be. On his way to the corner of the roof where an assortment of rusty buckets and janitorial tools are heaped together, gathering rust and dirt, he checks the beeper hanging on his belt. No calls yet. He’s hoping Claire is actually looking into how to handle this and isn't just busy calming nervous corporate executives.

He bends down, moving a big cracked flower pot, and finds the key hidden underneath, a flash of relief warming his chest. This place is still just the way he left it.

Opening the door he’s met with the familiar smell of oil and grease and chemicals, and standing at the top of the metal staircase leading down to the big workshop, he hears promising noises of metal against metal. He closes the door silently behind him and flies down to the oil-spattered floor, at last seeing two denim-clad legs poking out from under the Bug.

“Ted,” he murmurs as softly as he can.

The legs pull up abruptly and there’s loud thump. “Ow! Shit!” A low groan as Ted wheels out from under the Bug, rubbing his forehead, spreading an oil smudge against his skin. “Booster?”

“I’m sorry,” is all Booster can think to say. 

“No, it’s fine, you just surprised me,” Ted murmurs, getting to his feet. He’s wearing a worn and stained T-shirt advertising Soder Cola on it over his work jeans. His face looks drawn.

“No, I’m --” Booster inhales unevenly. “I’m sorry. For -- for everything that’s happening. I’m sorry for coming here. I know I'm... being so stupid right now.”

"You're not stupid," Ted replies softly.

"Am too."

Ted’s smile looks tired somehow, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He glances over the workshop. “I decided to, uh -- lock myself in here. Keep myself occupied while everyone else is...” his voice trails off.

“Yeah, I peeked into your room,” Booster smiles apologetically. “The rest of the League seemed to be in, so I figured I’d find you here.”

“Are there still reporters outside?”

Booster nods silently. Gathered outside the Embassy door. Even here, like the overflow has spilled over from the Conglomerate HQ. Then he looks up, trying to offer a friendly smile. “I don’t know what you’ve done to keep Guy away, he must be dying to be in the spotlight. Probably tied him to a chair or something.”

“To be fair, he has the same distaste of reporters like the rest of us,” Ted says, rubbing his arm in thought. “Did they see you?”

“No.”

“You sure? They didn’t see you come in here?”

Booster sees quiet anxiety in Ted’s eyes, and it makes him want to cry. “No, Ted. They definitely didn’t see me.”

“Okay,” Ted replies, though he doesn’t sound convinced. He walks over to the workbench, a mess of tools and schematics, and drops down on the chair. He picks up a small adjustable wrench, idly tightening and loosening it. “Any, uh -- Any developments?”

“Well, I’ve talked to Claire,” Booster murmurs, crossing his arms. “Barely. She uh, she’s looking into it. Told me we have a few options.”

“And what are they?”

“Well,” Booster offers an anxious smile. “Basically, um.... I deny it or I admit it.”

A choked chuckle escapes Ted. “Ah, I see.” He pulls a hand through his hair, and Booster winces at the thought of oil and dirt getting caught in those soft curls. “Well, that’s an easy choice, then.”

Booster makes a face. “Is it?”

“Well yeah,” Ted looks at him, a little taken aback. _“Obviously._ You deny it.”

“It’s not that simple,” Booster hears himself murmur, which prompts Ted to get to his feet.

“Boos,” Ted tells him softly, frowning at him with concern in his eyes. “It -- It _is_ that simple. You can’t tell them the truth.”

“I know, but -- But what if this happens again?” Booster asks, something sharp in his voice. “The next time, what do I say when they confront me?”

“You deny it again!” Ted throws the wrench aside, it lands with a clunk on the workbench. “God, Booster, you can’t be considering what I think you’re considering.”

“What if -- What if I change things? You know?” He meets Ted’s gaze with pleading eyes. “I know at some point, someone will change things." He offers a weak smile. "It might even be me.”

“Booster..." Ted raises his hands, like he's about to either cup Booster's face with them or grab his shoulders, but he tenses and lets his hands down again. "That would be -- amazing, sure, but I really don't think that's even a little bit realistic."

"Realistic?!" Booster exclaims. "How would _you_ know what's --!" Booster stops himself, taking a deep breath, before he continues softly. "I know it doesn't seem realistic to you, but I -- I've lived through it, Teddy. I know how things are gonna be, so why can't I help the world along a little bit? Why shouldn't I be the one who --"

"I'm not saying things aren't gonna change eventually," Ted interrupts him, frowning, and Booster can't tell if he's convinced or not. "And I know you, Boos. You're always dying to do the right thing, I love that about you, but --" He takes a deep breath. "I really don't think this is the time, and if it's going to happen anyway there's no reason for you to -- to --" He takes an uneven breath, his voice strangled and thin. "To sacrifice yourself for no reason."

"But it isn't for no reason! If I can help someone, just one person out there --"

"And if you slit your throat and donated your organs you could save someone's life too!" Ted's chest rises and falls with every breath. "But it's nothing compared to all the good you can do, all the lives you can save, if you keep going. You can't just -- self-destruct in the vague hope that it'll change things for the better."

"That's our job description, isn't it?" Booster continues low, surprised at himself for being so quick to jump to the opposite viewpoint of Ted. If Ted had wanted him to come clean to the public, he supposes he would have immediately started arguing for keeping it a secret. He feels like he's playing devil's advocate, arguing against himself. "We're heroes, Ted. We take those risks every day hoping it'll make the world a tiny bit better to live in, right?"

"This isn't like that!" Ted exclaims. “God. Boos! Have you seen _anything_ out there that implies this will play out any differently than when Taz did what you want to do?”

“I can't just -- What?” Booster staggers. “Who’s Taz?”

“You know. He --” Ted blinks, then smirks stiffly. “Oh, yeah. I guess before your time.” He leans against the workbench, rubbing his hands together. “He is -- _was_ \-- a superhero. Tasmanian Devil. He was just starting to make waves over here, real up and comer, several big teams trying to land him, you know. I met him at a charity dinner at one point, super polite type. But then the gossip mags got hold of, uh, pictures of him. With -- with a guy.” Ted’s face flushes slightly, looking away.

“Is this the -- the Australian guy?” Booster frowns. “Claire mentioned someone.”

“Yeah,” Ted murmurs. “And he thought he could be proactive, control how the whole thing would become public. Maybe be the one who changed everything. Like you."

Booster looks up, studying the pained expression on Ted's face. "So what did he do?"

"He confirmed everything, before the pictures got out." Ted shrugs, though there's nothing casual or relaxed in his posture. "Made a big public statement about coming clean, being honest about who he was, how it was time for an openly gay superhero. The whole shebang.”

Booster frowns, searching Ted’s face. “And what happened?”

Ted smiles weakly. “Well, it only happened a handful of years ago, and you’ve never even heard of him, right? That ought to tell you something.”

“No, but wha--” Booster kneads his hands together anxiously. “What happened to him?”

“What do you think?” Ted looks up at Booster, frowning. “It was a PR _nightmare._ He got thrown off his team, the newspapers published absolutely everything they could find about his identity, making him a walking liability to any hero who might have wanted to cooperate with him. Not to mention the public’s view of him was ruined. They hated him more than -- than Darkseid.”

Booster blinks at the floor. “I see.”

“Do you? Because I really, absolutely don’t want that to happen to you,” Ted tells him earnestly, stepping close to him, searching his eyes. “Please, Booster. You have to listen to me. We’re not in the 25th Century here. I know this era so much better than you. I've lived here all my life.”

Booster drops into the chair opposite Ted at the workbench, hiding his face in his hands. "I know," he mutters at last. "I know. I'm not half as convinced as I seem, okay?" He lets his hands drop, looking up at Ted. "I think I just... needed to have a discussion with someone."

Something softens in Ted's face and he swallows, looking down at him. "Sure."

“It’s not fair,” Booster murmurs hoarsely, looking at the floor. He feels a soft palm against his shoulder, and in the light of everything the sensation is almost painful. “It’s not fair that I have to lie about it.”

“I know,” Ted murmurs, hand trailing softly down his back and up again. “But, they -- the media won't play fair with a thing like this. You can’t tackle this like it’s an even playing field. They wouldn't forgive you for something like this, not the way things are.”

“But what if -- what if things have changed, just a little bit?” Booster ventures, glancing up at Ted’s brown eyes. “Maybe in some tiny, tiny way, what Tasmanian Devil did started something. Made an important part change somewhere, and we just don't know it yet.”

“Boos, you’re not listening!” Ted exclaims incredulously, taking a step back. He makes a soft groan of frustration. “You’ll lose your _job._ You’ll lose your team, everything you’ve been working for. And your entire image will be so toxic none of your friends will be able to help you. You see?” He pulls his fingers through his curls. “Nobody will be able to help you because that will drag them down too, ruin more lives. _I_ won’t be able to help because that will mean --” He stops abruptly, blinking at the floor.

“Teddy --” Booster pleads softly, getting to his feet. “It’s not like I’ll implicate you in -- in any way. You’re not gonna be involved in this.”

Ted attempts a smile, but it's more like a grimace. “That's not your call to make, you won't be able to control that. They will look at anyone who even talks to you, you get that?” Ted tells him, not meeting his eyes. “There will be rumors and conjecture about every single man you come across for the rest of your life, and --” He exhales sharply. “I tend to see you more than most.”

“So what you’re saying is --” Booster blinks, his vision suddenly fuzzy. “If I admit it, I’ll lose you.”

Ted turns away from him, suddenly busy stacking blueprints and papers on the bench. “God, I -- I don’t _know,_ Booster. I just know if you go out there and tell them, nothing can ever be like -- like it is now.”

It's like a kick to the chest. Booster tries clearing his throat, finding his center, but the wavering noise that escapes him gives him away. He wants to cry. He just wants to fall apart and cry piteously against Ted’s shoulder, like he did after he dislocated his elbow.

But he can’t. And he’s not going to fall asleep, resting his head in Ted’s lap, and be rid of that sorrow and hopelessness and fear when he wakes in the morning. Not this time.

All he wanted was for Ted to tell him that everything’s going to be alright.

He gestures at Ted, smiling weakly, like it was just a joke. A gag that didn't land. "Ted. Junebug, please."

Ted exhales through pursed lips, gathering his papers, not looking up.

He still hasn't cut his hair. And he looks so wonderful. Just as beautiful as he did when he left Booster's apartment this morning, cheerful and affectionate. It feels like years have passed since then.

A sting inside Booster. He’s not even supposed to be here. He’s implicating Ted by being here, and he feels a surge of guilt that he came running to him. _Selfish, Booster. Always so selfish._

He needs to leave. He loves Ted too much to stay.

He glances up at the metal staircase, ready to fly up there again, when Ted holds up a warding hand.

“Jeez. Not to be dramatic, but, uh, don’t you hear it?” Ted mutters, looking up at the tall dark ceiling of the workshop. “That helicopter has been flying over us for a while now.”

“Fuck,” Booster whines. “More reporters?”

“I think through the kitchen and the back alley is your safest bet,” Ted tells him, glancing towards him with concern in his eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” Booster mutters. “Thank you.” He turns stiffly towards the door at the far end of the room, his feet heavy, and glancing over he sees Ted bite his lip, looking down at his hands pressed against the workbench.

God, he can’t. He can’t leave like this. It only takes a second, stepping over to Ted, hugging him tight, pressing his face into his curls.

“Ah! Booster --” Ted objects, his shoulders tensing. “We really shouldn’t.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Booster murmurs, pressing him closer, feeling like he’s going to cry again.

He presses a quick kiss to Ted’s forehead before letting his arms drop. But Ted doesn't jump away like he expected. He stands there, up against Booster, and when he moves, it's to wind strong arms around him, hugging him silently for a moment. Booster is too surprised, or maybe overwhelmed, to do anything but feel the sensation of him, the warmth of him, the smell of him, so wonderfully close and perfect. 

“I’m sorry too,” Ted tells him, his voice choked, and takes a step back. 

They look at each other, suddenly awkward, uncertain. Booster clears his throat. "Well, I'll, um. I guess -- " He inhales, offering a brave smile. "We'll see how this thing plays out."

Ted offers a sort of desperate snort of agreement, making a face that would have made Booster giggle in any other context. Even now he's so outrageously cute.

Booster turns to the workshop door leading into the Embassy corridor, glancing back at Ted, who smiles weakly at him. Booster smiles, too, opening the door and slipping outside, hearing the clang behind him. No time to waste, he really does need to get out of here. He hurries along the corridor towards the staircase, turning a corner and smacking violently into a body moving in the opposite direction, so hard it knocks the wind out of him.

“Ah. Fuck. Sorry,” Booster wheezes, standing up. There's a pounding ache in his sternum.

The other person gets upright, leaning against the wall. "Shit. Ohh. What are you --?" There's a strangled noise. "God, Booster!” Max looks at him, wide-eyed, and massages his own shoulder where Booster crashed against him.

Fuck. Fuck! This is another thing Booster didn't need today.

“Max! Shit, um -- I’m sorry!” Booster breathes, suddenly wondering if his apology sounds like it might refer to the last time they saw each other. "Didn't see you," he clarifies abruptly, not daring for a moment to acknowledge, even inadvertently, that day he quit the League. The things he said to Max. Not to mention the angriest kiss of his life. It still haunts him, the insane way he delivered his notice.

God, if the media got hold of that little tidbit too, they'd --

"Well," Max grins, a little taken aback. “You look --” He scans Booster up and down. “...Disheveled.”

“Ah, well, you know,” Booster mumbles, out of breath, keeping his distance. “We’re, um, we’re going through some PR issues in the Conglomerate, if you haven’t heard.”

“I _have_ heard,” Max replies conversationally, giving Booster an odd look. “I just had to fight my way through a sea of reporters at the front door, begging me for statements about the strangest things.”

“Ah,” Booster tells him, glancing at the floor. Christ, what if Max is still mad enough to out him to the press? Even knowing Max has his own proclivities in that regard feels like a liability. "I'm really sorry about that."

“Not at all, I guess we could do with some media presence these days,” Max replies, still kneading his shoulder. Booster wonders if he was still in the League whether he would be punished for that. More cleaning duty, maybe.

Booster swallows, not being able to let the question go unasked: "So did you have anything juicy for them, then?"

"I'm not one to get bamboozled by reporters crowding around me," Max snorts brightly, brushing off his waistcoat with one hand. "If I have anything to say to the press it's on my terms. A press conference, verified statements, that's how I do things." He looks up at Booster, a curious glint in his eyes. “I’m just surprised whatever the Conglomerate has been up to is big enough to spill over on us.”

Booster clears his throat, eyeing the stairs behind Max.

“What are you doing here?”

Booster offers an anxious smile. “Just catching up with old friends.” 

Max regards him silently.

“You know, just,” Booster crosses his arms, wishing this conversation to be over. If Max brings up what happened the last time they met, he doesn't know what he'll do. Bolt out of the room, maybe. “Looking for a sympathetic ear.”

Max glances imperceptibly to the door to Ted’s workshop. “And did you find it?”

“Yeah,” Booster quickly replies, forbidding himself to acknowledge the door he just came though. “Got me all sorted out,” he lies. “Now I just need to find a way out of here without ten thousand photographers spotting me.”

“Through the kitchen and the back alley, I think,” Max tells him.

“Yeah. Yeah, um, thank you,” Booster breathes, hurrying past him. “Nice talking to you.”

“Likewise, Booster.” There's pause as Max looks at him. "You've got, uh, a bit of --"

"What?" Booster pauses and looks back at him, Max gesturing to his own chest, which makes Booster look down. The front of his suit is smudged and dark with stains of oil and dirt from when he hugged Ted. "Fuck," he murmurs under his breath, then out loud to Max with a smile. "Thanks for the heads up. Guess I must have brushed up against the Bug on the way in." 

"Sure."

Booster’s hand falls on the banister, his left foot on the first step down, when he stops. As much as he wants to leave this conversation, he hesitates, squeezing his eyes shut, breathing deep. And he makes up his mind. “Actually, Max --” He clears his throat, turning back towards his former boss. “I -- I think I have a favor to ask.”

Max blinks, surprised. "And what might that be?"

Booster clears his throat. “What countries does the League have teleporters to now?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry! 
> 
> It's been a long while since I really touched on the homophobia of the time, and I wanted to remind people what Booster and Ted are actually risking. It's so easy to think of the early nineties as recent history, "how bad could things have been", but being outed as LGBT did definitely still ruin careers, and the media was quick to pounce when they smelled blood in the water. 
> 
> I'm basing this two-parter on a multitude of real life cases, even inspiring current heroes who in the 80s and 90s were forced to deny or even sue the press for implying they were LGBT. I'm a little surprised how completely that history has disappeared, but times WERE that different. I hope I've showed how real that dilemma was in an environment like that.
> 
> Apologies if there are Tasmanian Devil fans reading this, but me rewriting his character history slightly can't be cringier than what DC would have done if they ever actually tried to do anything with his canonical queerness.
> 
>  **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
>  Walls come tumbling down - The Style Council


End file.
